


Wild Beauty and Gentle Strings

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [11]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/F, Lírien is apparently the name of the harp girl in Rivendell?, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15998741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Long before the events of the Hobbit, Tauriel travels to Imladris as part of her duties... what she finds there, however, will change the course of her life.





	Wild Beauty and Gentle Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Katana4544](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Katana4544/gifts).



“Her name is Lírien,” Elrond said quietly, coming up behind one of King Thranduil’s guards. To her credit, the elleth did not flinch, though she had been too absorbed watching Lírien’s slender fingers coax soft notes from the strings of her harp to note his approach.

 

“Master Elrond,” Tauriel replied, turning to nod respectfully at the Lord of Imladris. Her heart beat a swift tattoo in her chest, which she tried to credit being startled by such an illustrious elf, though she knew it had more to do with the soft look of absorption on Lírien’s face as she played. “Her skill is a credit to your lands.” She had been schooled in diplomatic speech as all elflings were growing up, but the brief glimpse of amusement Elrond let her see in his eyes made her realise that she had not fooled him.

“I had thought to find you at the archery contest,” Elrond continued, “how did you put it… ‘trouncing’ my son.”

Tauriel’s cheeks heated. She and Elrohir had got into a game of one-upmanship during dinner the night before; she vaguely remembered bragging about the archery skill of the Mirkwood Guard.

“Yes, my Lord,” she nodded, throwing one last longing glance at Lírien before turning away, promising herself to seek out Master Elrond’s enchanting harpist when she had the time.

 

 

The wine was only slightly less heady than the sweet satisfaction of victory – part of her wished that Legolas was here; it was less satisfying to win against such experience as Elrohir’s without the quiet pride of her friend warming her – and Tauriel found herself dancing to the quick tunes after dinner with delight.

She kept catching glimpses of Lírien, sitting with the musicians, her eyes closed in enjoyment as she brought melody upon melody forth, making Tauriel’s heart dance as lightly as her feet.

“Ah, Lady Tauriel,” Elrohir smirked, breaking into the dance and stealing her away from an ellon whose name she hadn’t caught, “fairest woodland wildfire. Dance with me.”

“My Lord, I-” Tauriel tried, but Elrohir simply laughed.

“No, no, you must offer me one dance, my Lady, as a balm to my wounded pride.” He grinned boyishly, winking at someone over her shoulder. Tauriel heard one of the ladies giggling.

“You, my Lord, are a rogue,” she accused, though she laughed – finding him amusing almost despite herself, incorrigible like a different Elven Prince she knew – and allowed him to twirl her around the floor.

“Ah, but a lovable one, at least,” Elrohir cheeked, “though I see one more lovable in your eyes present here tonight.”

Tauriel froze for an instant, glancing guiltily at the dark-haired harpist.  Elrohir chuckled, spinning them onwards in the throng of dancers.

“You know, Lírien is unwed,” he told her, “and _she_ keeps looking at _you_ , too.” He winked, performing a quick spin that allowed Tauriel to catch Lírien’s silver-grey eyes with her own, suddenly feeling like the lively tune those fingers created was spun solely for _her_ , to make _her_ dance with the wild grace common to her people.

Tauriel flushed, a smile blossoming on her face as she held the harpist’s gaze for one endless moment before spinning away again. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lírien found the redhaired guard tacking up her elk in the early hours of the morning, still wondering if she dared talk to her. The elleth – dangerous in a way that was at once foreign and intriguing to her – stirred something in her heart, the sheer joy on her face when she danced drawing the eye. Her fingers were sore, but the slight discomfort was outweighed by the beauty of her memories of the night before, watching the light of the stars glitter in soft golden-brown eyes.

“For the journey, Guard -” Lírien blushed, holding out a sack of lembas she had liberated from one of the serfs meant to take it to the contingent returning to Lasgalen, “I-I’m sorry – I do not know your name…”

“I am Tauriel, Mistress Lírien,” she replied, the slight lilt of her Silvan tongue coming through in the most adorable way.

Lírien smiled. “Tauriel…” she tasted the name, handing over her sack. “Yo-you dance well.” Blushing again, she looked down at her feet, wondering at this sudden shyness – usually she had no problem speaking to the Lord’s guests.

“Because your melodies moved me,” Tauriel replied, seeming a little hoarse. Lírien gasped, feeling cool fingers wrap around her own for a moment, squeezing gently. She looked up, feeling her heart speed at the softness in those golden eyes.

“Tauriel!” Someone called impatiently, breaking the spell between them. Tauriel’s fingers disappeared, a light glow appearing in her cheeks as she glanced off towards the speaker. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, Captain,” Tauriel replied, giving Lírien another soft smile as she swung herself into the saddle. “At once, Captain.”

Lírien watched them ride off, unable to stop herself from giving Tauriel a small wave when she looked back before the path curved out of sight.

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“You are unhappy here,” Thranduil remarked softly, startling Tauriel who had been staring into the dark pools and thinking about Lírien’s soft lips longing to feel them once more.

“Wistful, my King,” she admitted, turning to give him a nod of respect. “It will pass.” It always passed, eventually, buried deep enough she could ignore her longing and focus on her duty, even if it took longer each time she returned over the Hithaeglir.

“Longing for one you love does not pass,” he replied, grief deeper than the roots of the mountains hanging unspoken between them. “It seeps down, like rainwater, nurturing the roots of your heart.”

“Yes, King Thranduil,” she whispered, closing her eyes on the vision of Lírien’s tearful goodbye, “but I cannot escape… I do not want to forsake her.”

“You are to be congratulated,” Thranduil remarked, making Tauriel's eyes open once more, her mouth already forming a protest when the King continued, “upon your recent promotion.”

“Promotion?” Tauriel wondered, staring at Thranduil’s inscrutable expression. “I do not understand, my Lord…”

“The position of personal guard to the Ambassador of Lasgalen in Imladris is available…” he explained, as calmly patient as when he had explained to her that her naneth had perished and she was to be considered his ward, “should you wish it.”

Tauriel gaped for a moment. There was no Ambassador in Imladris, she knew, but it was so like Thranduil to invent such a need… just to make her feel less guilty for leaving.

Smiling through tears, she nodded dumbly, half wanting to hug him, but knowing that such a physical expression of joy would not be welcomed by the older ellon in the slightest.

Thranduil’s hand cupped her cheek, raising her face as his thumb wiped away the single tear travelling down her cheek. He smiled at her, slightly melancholy, but he was happy for her, she knew, his blue eyes soft.

“ _No gelin idh raid lîn, a no adel len i chwest,_ Tauriel.”

“ _Le vilui, Aran-nîn_ ,” she replied, bowing when he dropped his hand. “ _Le vellon nîn n'uir_[1].”

 

 

“You’re leaving.” Legolas was leaning against the doorframe of her room when Tauriel looked up, studying her silently.

“Yes.” Gesturing at the bags spread around her, she added, “I am going to Imladris… to stay.”

“I am glad for you – though we will miss you greatly,” he offered gently.

“As I will you…” Tauriel admitted, feeling familiar stirrings of guilt in her stomach. “But Lírien…”

“You need her, I know,” Legolas said, his warm hand stilling her fingers. “I will help you pack – and we will escort you to the Forest’s edge.”

“You are not angry?” she asked.

“Did you think this was _Adar’s_ idea?” he wondered, laughing, those blue eyes filled with familiar infectious mirth. Tauriel laughed, a weight she had not realised she was carrying suddenly lifted. “You are my friend, Tauriel, and I want you to be happy – don’t take too long before visiting, though; I should like to meet your wife.”

“If she’ll have me,” Tauriel replied ruefully, adding another tunic to the neatly folded pile.

“Of that, I have no fear,” Legolas chuckled, “and nor should you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“A melancholy tune, sweetling,” Tauriel murmured, coming to a halt behind Lírien, who gasped, her fingers faltering on the strings. She turned.

“You’re… here!” she exclaimed, hardly remembering to steady the instrument when she jumped up. Tauriel reached, one hand closing over the finely polished wood to keep it from falling. She nodded, suddenly dumbstruck. Lírien smiled, sweeter than honey, and reached for her, one hand cupping her face. “How long will you stay this time?” she whispered, stretching up for a soft kiss.

Tauriel wrapped an arm around her, tugging her as close as possible. She smiled into the kiss, stealing another before she pulled back a little, feeling Lírien’s soft breaths against her skin.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” she promised.

Lírien stiffened for a moment of surprise, her mouth forming a small ‘o’, but then she melted into Tauriel’s embrace, laughing happily. “Of course, I want you, my lovely Tauriel!” she exclaimed, peppering her face in kisses.

Tauriel grinned, squeezing her gently and felt the weariness of her journey melt away as the softness of Lírien’s love filled her.

 

* * *

 

[1] "May your paths be green and the breeze behind you."  
"Thank you, my King. Forever you are my friend."

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs to the Dwelf verse in the sense that it explains why there is no Tauriel in Inshêt Zahrar ;)  
> Continued in ["Travelling in Foreign Lands"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439073)


End file.
